


do you miss me like I miss you?

by multifandomgeek



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century, Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22104622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomgeek/pseuds/multifandomgeek
Summary: When Aziraphale starts giving Crowley the cold shoulder, the demon decides to take a long nap, thinking the angel wouldn’t even care.He couldn’t be more wrong.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 127





	do you miss me like I miss you?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that this fic exists in a thousand shapes and forms, but I just couldn't resist! I hope you enjoy it anyway 😊
> 
> This is unbetad

Before Crowley took his long nap for most of the 19th century, Aziraphale had been giving him the cold shoulder. It was very annoying, the angel decided for some reason or another that their _fraternizing_ simply wouldn’t do anymore, and found every excuse in the book not to meet Crowley or, upon being surprised, to politely leave. On one memorable occasion, he even left while the demon was in the middle of a sentence and managed to make it polite, the bastard.

It was clearly going to take a while before Aziraphale realized (again) what Crowley knew all along: nobody gives a damn. Or he would tell Crowley what the hell had he done to earn such a treatment, and the demon would be able to tell him why he was wrong and everything would be back to normal. (He would certainly apologize, whatever it was, but he wasn’t admitting it to himself at the time.)

So, Crowley thought, why not take advantage of the downtime and take a nap? He liked to sleep, it was nice, comfy, and he had been doing it less and less the more he and the angel depended on each other. He wasn’t about to leave Aziraphale doing everything by himself after so many years of comradery, that would just be rude. But, if the angel was the one to insist on it, Crowley might as well let him. He could always take credit for something or another that the humans came up with for his side of the job.

Besides, Aziraphale would do better without him. He was a bad influence, in all the meanings of the word; the angel could do without him for a few decades. Relax even, with nobody to thwart and all that. Crowley was doing him a favor, really, by going away, even if temporarily.

\--

For more than fifty years, Aziraphale made friends. He learned the gavotte, attended meetings, and played chess with other members of the discreet gentleman’s club in Portland Place that he had joined. He always made sure his competitor would win without realizing it was on purpose. People’s egos were very important, and it always did wonders for their self-esteem. Not to mention the laughter that would come to the room after Aziraphale lost yet another match. The angel liked making people smile. The club was a nice place indeed.

And yet, he often caught himself wondering where Crowley could be. He should be rather glad he was gone, happy about all the evil that he wasn’t doing. Or that Aziraphale didn’t know he was doing, at least. Really, what was the point of insisting on their arrangement for so long if, once the angel was okay with it, Crowley would disappear into thin air?

It was honestly infuriating. He tried not to think too much about it, but it kept coming back or, more precisely, never quite left the back of the angel’s mind. At the moment, he was trying not to go back to thoughts of red hair and a charming smile, instead focusing on systematically but discreetly lose another game of chess. There was an explosion of laughter once his opponent did his checkmate move. Aziraphale looked around with restrained delight, ready to pretend to be bothered like he did every time when a particular smile caught his eye.

Aziraphale stood up abruptly, startling a man who was peering at the game over his shoulder. Crowley was lounging against a nearby table some feet away from the few spectators the game gathered. He had his shades on, a new hairstyle, and a smirk that displayed every bit of his demonic nature.

“Oh, it seems like I’ve lost again,” said Aziraphale, forcing himself to look at the humans again, quite flustered. “Well done, Mr. Peterson, I could never have seen that coming.” He promptly hurried out of the small crowd, taking all eyes with him and not caring at all.

“Where have you been?” whispered Aziraphale at his demon. He was mad, yes, and a little sad too. But he was also overjoyed to see him, and he hated it.

“Took a nap,” said Crowley casually, still smirking.

“A nap- I haven’t seen you in-”

“Some sixty years, give or take.”

“Eighty years!” corrected Aziraphale, cursing himself for the smile that bloomed on Crowley’s face once he realized the angel had been counting. “Oh, bother,” he exclaimed, walking away from the demon. The other men present at the club at that moment were quite used to that kind of storming off, but never from Mr. Fell. They all lamented not being able to see the juicy events unfold once Mr. Fell stomped out of the front door.

“So you missed me?” asked Crowley, catching up.

Aziraphale stopped abruptly. “Would it kill you to leave a note?”

Crowley scoffed, stuttering with disbelief. “You weren’t talking to me, I didn’t think you would care.”

Aziraphale, who had been ready to reply to whatever Crowley said in a higher and possibly louder tone of voice, stopped in his tracks. That’s right, he had been ignoring Crowley, afraid of them being caught after a visit from Gabriel. He remembered seeing the disappointed look in the demon’s face every time he rejected their friendship and feeling his heart ache with sorrow.

Now, he only felt guilty.

Yes, he missed him. He didn’t think he would, might have thought it wasn’t even possible, but he did, so much. He missed being watched while eating at a fancy restaurant, missed sharing wine and silly human tales that no one else got, missed having someone to do frivolous miracles for him, missed the laughter, missed the bickering, missed having someone there who knew him so well he could practically finish his sentences if he didn’t think it was such a cliché. He missed Crowley.

No matter how many friends he made, Aziraphale still felt lonely. Now, that feeling was gone, and it didn’t take a genius to realize why.

Crowley was staring at him. Aziraphale took a look around at the very public sidewalk they were standing on. “Would you care for some wine?”

\--

Crowley walked into the bookshop’s backroom talking about a vintage or another that would be perfect for consuming just now. Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

“I did, you know,” said the angel as soon as they were safely hidden away from view.

“What?” Crowley turned back to him, confused.

“I missed you.” Aziraphale couldn’t tear his eyes away from Crowley, couldn’t even control his own breathing. He felt a pull inside his heart like a magnet, demanding that he touched Crowley. He tried to ignore it and ended up taking a step closer. “I- would it be too much trouble for me to ask that you don’t do that again?”

“You don’t want me to sleep anymore?” Crowley wasn’t following. It looked like he was trying to hide how flustered their proximity was making him.

“I don’t want you to disappear on me.” They were closer now. Aziraphale could smell Crowley and oh, _he missed him_. “Please,” he added as an afterthought, reaching up to touch Crowley’s chest delicately, feeling the fabric of his jacket before he let his hands sink in and properly touch.

“Okay,” said Crowley a little breathless. Aziraphale wished he could see his eyes. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“I was not mad at you, my dear. I was just afraid.”

Crowley was the one to step closer this time. Impossibly closer, steading a hand on the angel’s waist. “And you’re not afraid anymore?”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” said Aziraphale before kissing him.

It was everything he never allowed himself to dream of. Crowley pulled him closer by his lower back while simultaneously walking him backwards. Aziraphale was soon pressed between a bookshelf and the demon, his mouth being ravished and ravishing in return. His world became Crowley, his taste, his smell, his warmth.

There was a clatter as Crowley’s glasses hit the floor, neither of them knowing or caring if it had been intentional or not. Aziraphale’s hands were buried in Crowley’s hair while the demon’s were pressing against his back under his waistcoat.

“I missed you so much,” grunted Aziraphale, immediately capturing Crowley’s lips again, eliciting a low sound from the demon’s throat.

They were sexless, both of them, but lust didn’t seem to have anything to do with it, at least not for the angel. He just wanted Crowley closer, closer, closer. He wanted to be surrounded by him, to never be apart from him ever again.

“Never again,” said Crowley in between kisses, almost desperately. “I won’t sleep ever again.”

Aziraphale buried his nose on the demon’s neck. “I-” No, he couldn’t. “I need you.” Better. Still true, not as dangerous.

Eventually, lust made itself known. They made an effort.

\--

Though their relationship… _evolved_ , Aziraphale was always doubting the nature of Crowley’s feelings. Until the church, and the bomb, and the books. After that, he admitted to himself that he had always known about Crowley’s feelings, but it had been an easier reason to put up his walls than the truth: he was still terrified, and he wasn’t brave enough to face it.

So, he didn’t. Not for a long time. Not until everything was happening all at once and he was about to lose the last game of chess of his life. He denied, he pushed away, he hurt the only being who ever loved him, all in the name of his righteous beliefs that were oh so wrong.

In the end, being with Crowley was not only the right thing to do, but it also enabled the right thing to be done. Their relationship with each other and with humanity saved them, literally and metaphorically. In the end, and in the new beginning, Crowley and Aziraphale were free.

\--

“What do you think of a cottage?” asked Crowley. They were in bed, naked, Aziraphale nestled against his chest.

“A cottage?” asked the angel.

“For us to live together.”

Aziraphale leaned up to look at Crowley. “Live together?” he said, reminiscing of a certain moment at a bandstand that they would both rather forget.

“It can have a library,” offered the demon with a small shrug, trying his best to hide how fast his heart was beating as he waited for the angel’s answer.

But he needn’t worry. Aziraphale smiled and Crowley could almost see it reach his eyes in slow-motion. He smiled back without even noticing.

“And a garden,” sighed Aziraphale.

“And a garden,” said Crowley softly, running his hands through the angel’s hair.

Aziraphale kissed him softly, as if it was enough to seal the deal, and in a way it was. They left a lot unsaid, the two of them, Crowley would come to notice. That was fine, too. They were together, and in the end, that was all that mattered.


End file.
